


Purple Shirts and Pancakes

by JennLynn77



Series: The Mind Palace Reprogramming [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Insecure Sherlock, Johnlock Roulette, Lots of dialogue, M/M, Major Character Injury, NOT IN MY WORLD, Parentlock, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 04, Purple Shirt of Sex, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 19:06:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13553688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennLynn77/pseuds/JennLynn77
Summary: “I love seeing you this way, Sherlock. I love seeing John so happy. I love seeing her so happy.” She pointed weakly at Rosie as she spoke, her eyes becoming wet.“It sure doesn’t appear that you love seeing anything at the moment.”“I’m just so happy that the three of you are together, here, and so utterly in love with each other. It warms my old heart.”Sherlock’s face softened. “Mine, too.”





	Purple Shirts and Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> Part Three of The Mind Palace Reporgramming
> 
> It would be easier to understand this story if you read the two short stories that came before this one. 
> 
> I'm American and I did my best to fix American English to British English in terminology and spelling. I have no beta, so all mistakes are my own. Let me know if there's something I missed in the editing process. I did A LOT of research. Google and I became VERY CLOSE. Basically besties. I also got help from a few friends in a FB group. If any of you end up here to read this, thanks so much for answering my U.K./London questions, and the medical questions Google didn't!
> 
> I have a Tumblr if you'd like to come and say hi to me! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/johnyouareamazingyouarefantastic

They’re awakened two hours later by a text alert notification from John’s mobile.

 

“John.” Sherlock has been awake for almost fifteen minutes but has been watching John sleep. The mid-morning sun is back-lighting John’s hair, reminding Sherlock of when they first met, when John’s hair was more dark blond than it’s now predominate silver.

 

They’re lying on separate pillows, but their noses are a few centimetres apart; their knees slotted together.

 

“John.” Sherlock tries again, gently, reaching out a hand to brush against John’s cheek. “John, you’re phone just buzzed. It sounded like Mrs. Hudson’s alert sound.”

 

At the mention of her name, John’s eyelashes fluttered. Sherlock slid forward and pressed a kiss to each eyelid. “Good morning. I think Mrs. Hudson wants to tell you something.”

 

“Mmmmmhmmm.”

 

“It’s after 9:30. She probably wants to head out for her hair appointment soon.”

 

“Mmmmmkay.” Sherlock cocked a lopsided grin at that. A sleepy John was definitely one of the cutest things Sherlock’s ever seen. And Sherlock has seen Rosie. There was no need to guess from where Rosie got all of her charms.

 

Sherlock climbed over John’s side and reached for his mobile, and tapped it to life. Sure enough, Mrs. Hudson already fed Rosie, to save her boys from having to do so, but she really had to leave soon for her 10:30 hair appointment and brunch with Mrs. Turner.

 

“I’ll go down and get her if you promise me you’ll be in the shower by the time I get back upstairs. You agreed to breakfast with me after we deal with Lestrade and the paperwork from the poisoner suspect.”

 

“K, love.”

 

“My man of few words. Get up, get up!” Sherlock gently pinched John’s side and kissed his nose before he kicked his legs out from under the bedding and stood. He walked over to the chair on his side of the bed, picked up, unfolded, and then slid on his pyjama pants. He walked further across the bedroom and took his dressing gown off the hook on the back of the bedroom door. He tied it tightly around his waist and then turned to face the bed.

 

“Okay, I’m moving. Any second now.” John’s eyes were open now, and he was on his back, arm bent at the elbow, wrist underneath his neck. If there was an expression to show love, Sherlock believed the look on John’s face was IT.

 

“I mean it. Shower. Now.”

 

“I heard you the first time. Go get our girl and get your ass back here so we can get our trip to NSY over with so I can buy you some pancakes.”

 

“Chocolate chip?”

 

“If you’re good.”

 

“I’m always good.” A wink.

 

“Easy. No time for that, you tease. I’ll be in the shower when you get back, I promise.”

 

“You better be.” Another wink. John laughed as Sherlock left their bedroom.

 

 ***********************************

 

With a smile on his face, Sherlock jogged down the steps and arrived at Mrs. Hudson’s door. He tapped lightly, in case Rosie was napping again. Mrs. Hudson opened the door and said, “Oh, Sherlock! So happy to see you, dear. Are you doing better than you were last night? I was worried about you and John. He seemed worried about you, too.”

 

“I’m doing very well, since you ask. John and I talked some things through, and I think we’re in a better place for it.”

 

At the sound of his voice, he heard a delighted shriek from inside Mrs. Hudson’s flat.

 

“S’lock! Papa! Papa!” After the exclamations of a decidedly excited Rosie, Sherlock knelt down on the floor, waiting for her to toddle around the corner towards the door. She did not disappoint. She launched herself into Sherlock’s waiting embrace and kissed him soundly on his chin. She put her arms around his neck, got her feet on his thighs and climbed up his body until she got her little legs around his middle. She pressed her forehead against his chest and squeezed him as tight as she was able.

 

“Well. Good morning to you, Rosamund. Did you have a lovely time with Nana?”

 

Rosie nodded against his chest. She turned her face to lay it against him. Sherlock stood, one hand on her back, the other tousling her dark blond hair. He pressed a kiss to her temple and looked back to Mrs. Hudson. She could only smile at him.

 

“What?”

 

“I love seeing you this way, Sherlock. I love seeing John so happy. I love seeing her so happy.” She pointed weakly at Rosie as she spoke, her eyes becoming wet.

 

“It sure doesn’t appear that you love seeing anything at the moment.”

 

“I’m just so happy that the three of you are together, here, and so utterly in love with each other. It warms my old heart.”

 

Sherlock’s face softened. “Mine, too.”

 

“Oh, Sherlock. Your heart has always been warm. It just took meeting John to let you know it was okay to let it be.” She reached forward and cupped his left cheek.

 

“I suppose you’re right.” He immediately stood straighter, not wanting to appear too affected by their conversation. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

 

Mrs. Hudson laughed, knowing exactly what he was trying to do. Heaven forbid others know he is capable of love. Little did the poor fool know, everyone who knows him is already aware.

 

“Come on, dear one. Let’s go upstairs so Mrs. Hudson can go about her day.” He looked at Mrs. Hudson and smiled. “Thank you so much for watching her for us last night and this morning. We don’t deserve you.”

 

He turned to go and as he walked away, Mrs. Hudson said loudly, “I think you do!”

 

Sherlock laughed at that as he gently bounced Rosie in his arms. “I think there is someone upstairs who can’t wait to see you.” He raised an eyebrow as a question. She tilted her head, deep in thought. Her own eyebrows reached her hairline halfway up the stairs. “Daddy?!”

 

“Yes, Daddy! He missed you so much! He’s in the shower now waiting for us to come back upstairs. We’re going to get changed and go see Gavin at work.”

 

Rosie tilted her head again, this time in confusion. Sherlock’s brow knitted in concern. Then it hit him.

 

“Greg. We’re going to see Greg and then we’re going to go get pancakes!”

 

“Gweg! ‘cakes!”

 

“Let’s go get Daddy so we can get pancakes!” They enter the flat, but Sherlock doesn’t hear the water running.

 

“John?” Sherlock yelled down the hall.

 

“Daddy?” Rosie yelled down the hall as well. Always so helpful.

 

“In the loo! Just toweling my hair.” The loves of John’s life peeked around the door, the steam immediately curling both of their hair. John’s waist was wrapped in a towel, and he had another hanging over his left shoulder.

 

“Oh my goodness! Who is that? Is that my little girl?”

 

Rosie squealed. “DADA DADA DADA!” She squirmed in Sherlock’s hold and reached for her father. Sherlock looked a little sad, but quickly schooled his face. But John saw it before he could rearrange it.

 

“Oh, she’s already seen you and lavished you with attention! Give her here, you sulky prat!”

 

John always knows the right thing to say.

 

“Hello, little one! Did you give Sherlock a kiss when you saw him?” Rosie enthusiastically nodded her head.

 

“Good girl! Sherlock deserves all the kisses we can give him! How about you and I go get changed and let Papa get cleaned up so we can go visit Greg!”

 

“Gweg!” John laughed at that. “That’s a new word for her, isn’t it?”

 

“She knew his name and I didn’t, John. She is already better than me with names.” Sherlock just shook his head, still not quite able to believe that turn of events.

 

“She got you there eventually! Now go shower so we can leave!” He switched places in the loo with Sherlock and gave him a bit of a shove towards the shower. He pulled on the tie to Sherlock’s dressing gown and leaned forward to give Sherlock a soft kiss.

 

“I kiss Papa!”

 

As John turned Rosie around in his arms to let her have at Sherlock’s cheek, he leaned in with her again as well. He whispered in Sherlock’s left ear, “If you wear that purple shirt of yours, I’ll do something with you tonight that we haven’t tried before.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes grew wide. “Promise?”

 

“You bet your sweet bum.” With that, John and Rosie left Sherlock to get ready.

 

***********************************************************************************

Twenty minutes later, they were walking along Baker Street to the tube stop. Rosie was on Sherlock’s back in a child carrier, and John was on his right side, hands brushing past each other as they walked close. They managed to get two seats together in the tube carriage. As they made their way to Westminster Station, John and Sherlock (and Rosie) talked the entire way. They both glanced around the carriage, John’s military training and Sherlock’s unending curiosity motivating the pivoting of their necks. John’s eyes fell upon an older woman. She looked at the small family across from her and smiled at John. A knowing glance that said, ‘Oh! That’s Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson!’ Her eyes traveled to Rosie’s face as she intermittently lifted her head over Sherlock’s shoulder to look at her surroundings. The older woman winked at John with an understanding look. Anyone who spent thirty seconds in their company were able to see the ease and familiarity of this obvious family. John nodded at her in silent affirmation and smiled back.

 

They walked from Westminster Station to NSY with Rosie pointing at a few of the birds she saw flying from building to building. Sherlock kept turning his neck to talk to her, and she kept grabbing at his nose and pulling on his hair. John could only shake his head and laugh and be thankful for his continuing good fortune.

 

The three of them exited the lift to see Lestrade, Detective Oliver Webb and Detective Sergeant Mia Grant hovering around Webb’s desk. When they were spotted, the detectives parted to let them through to see the object of the attention. The suspect they were investigating the evening before, a Mr. Ross Shepherd, was handcuffed to Webb’s desk by the right wrist, leaving his left free to sign any paperwork presented to him.

 

John took a step back at the sight of Shepherd.

 

“Sherlock, would you mind taking her out of here?”

 

“It should be fine, John. We’re only going to be here for a few minutes to review and sign our statements. I should think Detective Webb is capable of keeping a restrained person under control.”

 

“More than capable, freak.” declared DS Grant.

“Ah. Are you two sleeping together, too? You really are fully embracing your roles as replacements for Donovan and Anderson. Are you cheating on a spouse as well, Oliver? Or are you the cheater, Mia?”

 

John cleared his throat and elbowed Sherlock in his side.

 

“What? I just want to be clear who is reinhabiting which identity.”

 

“John? Really? You allow  _that_  to speak to others that way in front of your daughter?” questioned Grant.

 

Sherlock took a seat at an adjacent desk since Rosie was becoming heavy. John stepped closer to Webb’s desk and pointed his right index finger in Grant’s face.

 

“First of all, she’s our daughter. Secondly, she may as well know who the twats are around here if we’re going to be spending any time with her in your collective presence.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes rose to his hairline in surprise, making an unexpected visual connection with Shepherd, who just tapped his fingers in irritation during the confrontation.

 

“Thirdly, and this is the most important thing, so it would behoove you both to listen: If I hear one more shitty word come out of either of your mouths about him, I may not be able to control my fist. You should remember that I chinned your Chief Superintendent a few years ago because he called Sherlock a ‘weirdo’. My fist will not be responsible for its reaction if I hear it again. Do we all understand each other? Moreover, do the two of you understand  _me_?”

 

“John, please. I’ll talk to them about this.” pleaded a very tired looking Lestrade.

 

“Oh! Like you talked to Donovan and Anderson? Because I don’t remember you EVER correcting their behaviour. I also don’t remember you ever NOT listening to the constant litany of excrement they consistently vomited up about Sherlock in your presence. If you had, JUST ONCE, told them to keep their mouths shut, maybe Sherlock wouldn’t have had to jump off a building!”

 

John took in a staggered inhale. Both hands clenched and released. The grudge against Lestrade always lurked just below the surface of their interactions.

 

Rosie froze against Sherlock’s back in reaction to her father’s distress. Attempting to offer up a bit of humour, Sherlock spoke up.

 

“If I’m permitted to interrupt your impending acquiescence to John’s demands.” He raised a hand as if he were a student wanting to ask a question.

 

“Could the two of you insult me just a bit further? John does get so angry when people disparage me. He will take me home and properly ravage me in our bed to make me feel better about myself.”

 

At that, Lestrade snickered, Webb and Grant turned a bit green, and John spun on his heel to face Sherlock.

 

“You’ve got to be shitting me, Sher… AAAAAAHH!”

 

“John?!?!? What is it?!”

John staggered towards Sherlock, his right hand reaching towards his left shoulder. “Sher. ‘Lock. Oh shit.”

 

Sherlock instinctively reached for John, and he wobbled into his arms. Roving his eyes over John, he finally saw the handle of what appeared to be a letter opener protruding from the left side of John’s left shoulder. Rosie started to cry, rubbing her wet face against Sherlock’s hair.

 

“Can someone please take her out of here? PLEASE? Hurry, please!!! John, look at me. I’ve got you.”

 

Webb moved quickly, unclasping and releasing Rosie from the carrier and pulling it off of Sherlock. Lestrade took her and turned her face away from the unfolding scene., speaking softly to her. Grant called for an ambulance.

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt your domestic spats, but I’d like to get back to my cell.” Shepherd announced to the room nonchalantly as he sat back on his chair with a huff, John’s blood splattered on his left hand and sleeve. Three detectives rushed to Webb’s desk to corral Shepherd and removed him from the room.

 

John was sliding through Sherlock’s embrace towards the floor. Sherlock slid down with him. He knelt on the cold concrete and gingerly turned John so his back was against Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock’s hands were shaking as he ran his right hand over John’s chest and stomach, trying to soothe him as well as himself, while his left lay unhelpfully at his side, not wanting to get too close to John’s injury.

 

“Leave it in my shoulder, Sherlock. Wait for the paramedics.” John turned to lie on his right side and pressed his face against Sherlock’s neck. “Oh shit. Your shirt. I love that damn shirt.”

 

Sherlock laughed nervously and pulled John tighter to his chest.

 

“I’ll buy ten more shirts in this colour if you’ll be okay.” He pressed frantic kisses to John’s hair.

 

“Promise?” John smiled, but his lips trembled.

 

“You have my word.”

 

Grant yelled across the room, “Ambulance should be here in less than five minutes!”

 

“Just five more minutes, John. You’re going to be all right.”

 

“Rosie. Sherlock. She ‘kay?” John was shaking now, slurring his words a bit, his face was pale and clammy.

 

Sherlock raised his face away from John and yelled, “I need a blanket! John’s going into shock!”

 

Sherlock then lowered his voice to a whisper and pressed his lips to John’s hair. “Lestrade has her in his office. I can see her with him now. She’s fine.”

 

“Such a dick to ‘em. Tell him I’m sorry?”

 

“Nope. You can tell him that when you’re better. I refuse to mediate.”

 

Sherlock was crying now, tears dripping on John’s neck and hair.

 

“S’okay, love. I’m ‘kay. We’re ‘kay. Not worst place ta be stabbed, I guess.”

 

“Glad to know there are decent places to be stabbed.” Christ, where was the ambulance?

 

John’s right hand clenched a fist full of Sherlock’s shirt as he writhed against his chest, but never made a sound. Sherlock pulled John even tighter against him.

 

“So, I guess we’re not getting pancakes?”

 

John let out a watery laugh, his wet eyes betraying the steely demeanour he’d been trying for.

 

“Just glad ya wanted to eat, S’lock.”

 

“I’m not letting you get out of taking me to breakfast. I won’t forget that promise you made me.”

 

“K, love. I will.”

 

Behind them, Sherlock could hear the pounding steps of the paramedics.

 

“Sir, are you hurt, too?” one asked as they came up behind him, staring at the blood-mottled left sleeve of his ruined shirt.

 

“No. It’s all his blood. Please, don’t worry about me! Help him!” One of the paramedics pried Sherlock’s arm from John’s upper chest while the other lowered John to the floor on his right side. Sherlock’s knees slipped from under him, and he landed on his bottom, his legs curled underneath him as he watched the paramedics slide a transport board under John and then strap him to it. Sherlock spun on the floor to watch John be taken to the lift. Lestrade waited for the lift door to close before bringing Rosie out of his office.

 

“Someone wants to see you.” Sherlock looked up to see Rosie looking down at him curiously, eyes red-rimmed, not sure if she should start to cry again. Sherlock wiped at his eyes so she wouldn’t see, sniffed, cleared his throat and stood in front of her and Lestrade.

 

“I would greatly appreciate a ride to the hospital John’s being taken to.”

 

Detective Webb slinked back to his desk, feeling that he was the last person Sherlock would want to accept help from in this moment. Grant stepped forward and said, “I’ll drive you, Rosie, and Lestrade to the hospital, Sherlock.”

 

After a grateful nod, Sherlock reached for Rosie, adjusted her in his arms, gave her a kiss on her temple, and spun around and walked towards the lift.

 

“Shall we?”

 

***********************************************************************************

John was taken to Saint Thomas’ Hospital. Lestrade sat in the back with Rosie and Sherlock, while Grant drove them the short distance to the hospital. Lestrade was texting as Sherlock held Rosie tight to his chest, slowly rocking them both back and forth on the seat. He was soothing himself as much as he was comforting her. She didn’t seem at all bothered at the moment, as one of her chubby hands had a fist of the collar of Sherlock's shirt and the other around his neck. He pressed kisses to her hair as he whispered soft endearments and reassurance to her that she didn’t understand. He said those things to console himself.

 

They exited the car and walked into the A&E. John was nowhere in sight. He must’ve already been admitted. The three of them walked to the admittance station.

 

“We’re here with John Watson, he was just brought in a few minutes ahead of us. Late forties, stab wound, upper left shoulder.” Lestrade said as he showed his badge. Anything to help speed the process along.

 

The nurses hand some papers back and forth to each other. One finally says, “He’s been taken back to surgery already. If you want to wait for any news about his condition, you can go down this hallway and have a seat in the waiting area. Someone will be out to give you updates on his condition as they become available.”

 

Sherlock is unable to speak; he just holds on to Rosie and stares ahead at nothing of note.

 

“C’mon, Sherlock. Let’s have a walk down this hallway and get a couple of chairs and have a seat while we wait.” He slung his left arm around Sherlock's shoulders and guided him towards the waiting room. As they walked, he turned to Sherlock and halted their procession.

 

“Why don’t you step into the Lad’s and wash your hands? I’ll take the lil’ Miss here, and we’ll wait for you, yeah?” Greg held out his hands, palms up, mouth turned up in a soft smile.

 

Sherlock shook his head quickly in dissent. He held Rosie tighter against his chest.

 

“Sherlock. You can have her right back, as soon as you wash your hands. They’re covered in blood, and she could get scared if she notices. Just let me take her, get cleaned up, and I’ll hand her right back, ‘k?

 

Sherlock looked over Rosie’s shoulders and down at his own hands. The blood was drying in the pores of his skin. Caking in the cuticles of his nails. John’s blood.

 

Sherlock shook himself and expression became more alert. “Yes. Fine. Thank you.” Before he could change his mind, he hurriedly passed Rosie into Greg’s waiting arms. He gave her a bear hug and tickled her side. “GWEG!!!!!” She giggled out, suddenly breathless from the tickling. “Let’s go see if they have any toys here for you to play with!” They turned and went through the door, as Sherlock stood and watched it close behind them.

 

In the restroom, he turned on the taps, as hot as his skin would stand it. He scrubbed as hard as he could, and grabbed a paper towel, and began scraping the blood from under his nails and out of his cuticles. The water ran red, splashing along the rim of the sink. Then he remembered his shirt. He pulled a few more towels out of the dispenser and ran them under the cold tap and brought them to his chest and shoulder. The more he rubbed at the stain, the redder the towels became. The harder he tried to erase the blood, more would just seep through the toweling. For a second, Sherlock thought he himself was bleeding. As soon as he’d seen the letter opener protruding from John’s shoulder, he felt like he’d been stabbed as well. As soon as he’d seen John bleeding, he felt like he was bleeding, too. Logically, he knew that these sympathy pains were nothing more than sentiment. Feelings his own mind created to help himself wrap his own head around what he’d just seen. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. There were a few smears of blood on his neck, presumably transferred there by John while he laid against Sherlock as they waited for the ambulance. Sherlock closed his eyes and pressed them tight as he felt the ghost of John’s two-day growth of scruff scratch against his neck. He hadn’t had time to shave before they left that morning, wanting to get their NSY errand done as quickly as possible to free up the rest of their day. Sherlock tilted his head back and stared at the white ceiling, and let out a lengthy exhale. He pinched the top of his nose and took in and released a few slow breaths. He used the towels left in his hand and wiped at the red stains on his throat. He glanced down at his shirt and picked at the lint stuck there from the towels, wet and caught in the saturated threads, in the stain that would never come out.

 

As he exited the restroom, he nearly walked into Molly.

 

“Oh! Sherlock! Are you all right? Is John all right? Where’s Rosie? Where’s Greg?”

 

Sherlock took a step back and blinked a few times, trying to decide which of Molly’s questions to ask first.

 

“Oh. Sherlock. I’m sorry.” She reached forward and cupped his cheek in her right hand. “Greg texted me while you were heading to the hospital, but didn’t give me too many details.”

 

“I’m afraid I won’t be much more of a help to you, either. We arrived a few minutes after the ambulance that brought John here did, and we missed his admittance. The nurses at the front desk told us he’d already been wheeled back for surgery.”

 

“What happened? Where was he injured?”

 

“Here.” Sherlock brought his right hand to his left shoulder and showed Molly the approximate placement of John’s wound. “Detective Webb had our poisoning suspect cuffed to his desk, but apparently didn’t think it prudent to put his damn letter opener back in a drawer.” Sherlock could feel the anger of the situation finally rising up his spine. Anger he could do.

 

“How does someone, a Detective, not think that a sharp object in the line of sight of a suspected murderer might be something to avoid? Why does Lestrade keep hiring imbeciles to work for him? Does he do it to make himself look smarter? If that is the case, he looks like a bloody genius after what’s happened!”

 

Molly stepped closer to him and put her hands on his shoulders. She spoke gently, “From what you’ve told me, John’s injury doesn’t sound to be too serious. Was there a lot of blood?”

 

Sherlock could only nod.

 

“Maybe the weapon nicked the cephalic vein. I’m sure the surgeon was able to suture it. If there isn’t much tissue or muscle damage, John should be able to come home in a few days. Most likely a candidate for physical therapy once the puncture heals. He’s going to be fine, Sherlock.”

 

His shoulders sag a bit in relief. Molly pulls Sherlock into a hug and runs her hands up and down his back. Sherlock returns the embrace and leans his forehead against her right shoulder.

 

“I can only imagine how scared you were. Seeing something like that happen to John. And so suddenly, too. He’s lucky to have had you there with him.”

 

“I’m the main reason this happened to him.” he murmured against her shoulder.

 

“Sherlock Holmes! Enough of that talk. You are partners, in everything, including your work. He knew the risk of chasing you around London the night you met! He took that risk, willingly. And he’s been by your side ever since because he loves the work and  **you**! So stop feeling sorry for yourself, and show me to my God-Daughter at once!”

 

Sherlock chuckled. This new take-no-bullshit Molly that appeared after Sherrinford has been an absolute blessing.

 

“Yes yes. As you command, fellow God-parent. Follow me.” They let go of each other and walked the rest of the way down the hall and opened the door to the waiting room. Rosie turned around at the squeal of the hinges and squeaked, “Mowwie!” She dropped the colourful blocks she’d been playing with and ran to Molly, who bent over and scooped her up.

 

“Hello, my lovely Rosamund! How would you like to go home with me, have some lunch and a nap?”

 

“Want pa’cakes. S’pose to pa’cakes t’day.”

 

“I think I can do that for you, darling!” She looked towards Sherlock. “Would you mind if I took her to Baker Street? I think being in a familiar place would do her some good, considering the events of the morning. Eating and sleeping in her own home will be great for her.”

 

Sherlock tapped at his pockets until he felt his keys. He handed them to Molly and she looked at Lestrade. “You keep an eye on this one, okay?”

Greg gave her an exaggerated salute. “My pleasure.”

 

Sherlock whispered to Rosie, “Will you be good for Aunty Molly, Rosamund?” She nodded enthusiastically. “I will see you very soon.”

 

“Daddy too?”

 

“Daddy too, sweet girl. Now go have some pancakes. I want to hear all about them when I see you!” He put his large hands around her face and kissed her nose. Molly and Greg shared a knowing glance before she turned to walk away with Rosie. She waved at Sherlock over Molly’s shoulder and he waved back and blew her a kiss.

 

When they were out of view, he turned back to Greg, sat beside him, then sighed. Now it was time to wait.

 

 

***********************************************************************************

They bided their time for a bit over two and a half hours before a doctor came through the waiting room door. She walked towards them, a smile on her face that actually reached her eyes, and those eyes were locked on Sherlock. “Sherlock Holmes?”

 

Sherlock jumped from his hard, plastic chair. “Yes.” His eyes grew wide. His deduction capabilities were a bit off, but he hoped the smile on her face was indicative of positive news.

 

“I'm Doctor Rhodes. I hear you’re both here for Doctor John Watson. I was his surgeon. My physician’s assistant is closing him up. I wanted to get out here and let you know how everything went.”

 

Lestrade slid forward on his seat and put his hand comfortingly on Sherlock's arm. Sherlock was holding his breath.

 

“I have good news and some news that’s probably to be expected. John lost a bit of blood, but keeping the weapon in was the best course of action. It helped stabilize the artery that was slit.”

 

 **Artery**? Molly said most likely a vein…

 

“His brachial artery was nicked by the weapon, and luckily, we were able to see that on his CT scan. We pulled out the weapon, got the artery clamped, and I was able to repair it without much fanfare. The wound was deep, however, most of the letter opener was inside of his arm. The brachial artery is here,” she stopped to lift her left arm and pointed to just above her armpit. “There was no bone involvement, so that should aid in his healing time.”

 

Sherlock just nodded, breathing shallowly.

 

“That brings me to the part that you’ve probably already worked out for yourself. He is going to need some time to recover. We’re going to keep him here for two to three days. Before his release, he’s going to meet with a physical therapist for some very light exercises he can do at home before he’s re-evaluated in six weeks. He will then be assessed for range of motion and will let us know his pain rating before he’s allowed to either continue on with therapy sessions or if he’s sufficiently healed enough to skip them altogether. My personal opinion? It could never hurt to go to PT a few times a week for a month, learn the exercises and stretches and then just carry on doing them at home or a gym, whichever option is financially feasible. I expect a full recovery with no real long-term damage. His range of motion may be a bit compromised, especially early-on, but if he takes it easy, does the exercises and goes to therapy when he’s cleared for it, I see no reason why he shouldn’t be fine in the next three to six months.”

 

Sherlock exhaled his breath conspicuously and reached for the surgeon’s hand. He gripped it hard and shook it demonstratively. “Thank you. So. Much.”

 

“I hear that you’re partially responsible for helping me with my job. Before John was sedated, he told me about the blanket you got for his shock symptoms, how you kept him calm. Those things were partially responsible for this positive outcome.” She brought her other hand to their grip.

 

A bit of the tension that had been squeezing Sherlock’s mind and posture eased, and a bit of his usual snark was exposed. John would be pleased. “I just did what he told me to do. He’s the doctor, I just listened to him. Isn’t that what people are supposed to do? Listen to their doctors?”

 

“You kept yourself calm, as well. That goes a long way in keeping a situation from spiraling. Don’t diminish what you did, Mr. Holmes. John certainly didn’t.”

 

Sherlock bit his lower lip at that.

 

“You should be able to see him in thirty minutes or so. He’s going to be groggy for a few hours, but you can sit with him in his room while he wakes up. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I’m a big fan of yours and Doctor Watson’s work. He’ll be able to get back to it soon!” She patted his hand and let go, but Sherlock decided a hug was warranted.

 

“Thank you. Very much.” he whispered in her ear, his arms around her shoulders.

 

“You’re very welcome! You should gather yourselves and head to the reception desk and find out what room John’s going to be in! It was lovely to meet you, but I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

 

She exited the room and Sherlock turned to Lestrade. He was grinning. Sherlock squinted his eyes in response. “If you mention that, to anyone, I will vehemently deny it.”

 

“Deny what? Hugging a complete stranger? Hugging Molly in the hallway? Yeah, I saw that, Sherlock. You’re not fooling anyone. You’re a decent bloke when you’re not being a prick.”

 

“Would you accompany me to the cafeteria for coffee before John wakes up?”

 

“Coffee and a sandwich sound good to me. Let’s find out his room number before we go.” They walked down the hall, got John’s room number, then had sandwiches, crisps, and some pretty dreadful coffee.

 

“Well, I’m going to head back to the station and let you be with John when he wakes up. I’m going to have a shit ton of paperwork to fill in and a suspension to dispense. Pretty sure Webb is expecting it, but disciplining someone after something like this happens is never an easy thing to do.”

 

“Tell him that if anything happens to John ever again, he and I will have a conversation. And by conversation, I mean my hands around his throat, and only me being able to actually speak.”

 

“He’s already a bit afraid of you, I think I’ll keep that to myself. He’ll tread lightly around you from here on out. And I mean that. Grant, too. They’ll be on their best behaviour every time they are in your company. John’s, too. John was right about that. I never really corrected Anderson and Donovan. And I sure as hell shouldn’t have listened to them when they were talking all of that shit about you six years ago.”

 

“Bygones, Lestrade. Just keep those two in line. I can’t be held responsible for my characteristic wit or John’s temper and fists.”

 

“Go see John. I don’t want him to wake up and have you not be there. Give him my best wishes.”

 

“I don’t want that either, and I certainly shall pass that along to him. Thank you, Greg. For bringing me here, for staying with Rosie and then staying with me. You’ve been invaluable.”

 

“Invaluable enough for you to remember my name on your first try. I’m honoured. Now go. Text me later and let me know how he’s doing.” Greg patted his shoulder and left Sherlock standing in front of the lift doors.

 

***********************************************************************************

He made his way to John’s room, a bit lighter after speaking with John’s surgeon. He just needed to SEE him. He slowly opened the door, and saw a nurse there, putting a pillow under his left shoulder to elevate it, adjusting his IVs, clipping on a pulse oximeter, and adding two more strips of surgical tape to the IV port in his hand. When he finally stepped around John to type a few things into his E-chart, he noticed Sherlock.

 

“Hello. Are you Mr. Holmes?”

 

“Yes, I am. Has John woken up yet?”

 

“Oh, no. He’s likely to be out for a bit yet. Will you be staying with him for a while?”

 

“As long as I’m allowed.”

 

“I was told that you’ve been approved to stay for as long as you like.”

 

“How is that possible? Won’t I have to leave when visiting hours are over?”

 

“I was told that you’re the exception to that rule, at least for the case of Dr. Watson.”

 

“Do you know why I am an exception?”

 

“I’m just going by what I was told by the head nurse on shift today, Mr. Holmes.”

 

Ah. Sudden realisation. He would have to thank Lestrade.

 

“I’m going to venture a guess and say a high ranking official from the British Government made a call warning everyone on staff here about me, and decided for a pre-emptive strike.”

 

“A very good guess, indeed. But wouldn’t you call that a deduction? In your line of work, I mean. That’s what Dr. Watson calls them on his blog.”

 

“That he does.” Sherlock’s tone was abrupt. The nurse took the hint at last.

 

“My name is Iain, by the way. I’m on for a few more hours if you two need anything. The call button is on John’s left, along the inside rail. I brought in some ice chips for when he wakes up. If he can keep those down without throwing up, you can get him to slowly slip the water I’ve left on the overbed table. The pitcher is insulated, so it’ll keep the water nice and cool for him. Please let someone know when he wakes up so we can check him out.”

 

“I will.” Sherlock looked around the surprisingly large private room and noticed a reclining chair. It looked very out of place. Iain noticed.

 

“We had an orderly drag that in here for you. It’s pretty comfortable. It’s usually in the staff break room. Don’t worry, there are plenty more where that came from.”

 

“I wasn’t worried.”

 

“Right. So, I’ll be off then, other patients to check in on.”

 

“Bit not good, S’lock.”

 

Iain and Sherlock spun around simultaneously.

 

“John?! Oh, Christ, you’re awake!”

 

“Give me a few minutes, Mr. Holmes. I can check him out right now and leave you both alone for a while.”

 

They both walked briskly to John, Iain pulling his stethoscope from his neck and pressing the ear tips in place as he went, and Sherlock walked around to John’s right side, and immediately grabbed his right hand and squeezed it. He brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed John’s knuckles.

 

John stared at Sherlock through sleepy eyes as he answered Iain’s questions.

 

“Don’t forget to use the call button if you need something. Let someone know when you’re ready to try eating, Doctor Watson. John nodded his agreement, but never took his eyes from Sherlock.

 

Iain left the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

 

“I was so scared, John. The sound you made. The look on your face. You fell into my arms and all I could do was hold onto you. I’ve rarely felt so helpless in my life.”

 

“You did great. I was so proud of you, I even told my surgeon before light’s out. The way you got Rosie out of the room, you held me still, kept me calm, asked for a blanket when the shock symptoms presented. You did everything right.”

 

“Except to notice that a murder suspect had access to a letter opener and was intent on stabbing you with it.”  
  
“A letter opener? Christ. Felt like a machete. I was in and out of consciousness, and don’t really remember seeing it. As far as Shepherd is concerned, not a one of us was paying him proper attention. We were all busy arguing like we were in a secondary school cafeteria.”

 

“Except Webb. His desk. His letter opener. I vote for blaming him.”

 

“I’m sure Lestrade will be busy doing that sooner rather than later. I’m sure he feels shitty enough about it. And if he doesn’t, we can continue to bring it up and see how long it takes you to make him cry. I’ll even time it.”

 

Sherlock let out a laugh at that, but his expression faltered.

 

“Sherlock? What?”

 

“I could’ve lost you today. Rosie could’ve lost you today. I almost lost you both today. I wouldn’t be allowed to keep her if something happened to you. She isn’t biologically mine. And without Mycroft’s meddling, I would have to leave at the end of visiting hours, instead of sleeping in that chair beside you tonight.”

 

“Sherlock, get up here with me, okay. Sod the chair. Let’s both have a lie-down and a talk.”

 

John released Sherlock's hand and slid closer to the left bed-rail. With zero hesitation, Sherlock lowered the right rail and climbed in beside John, and laid his head on his chest and slung a leg over John’s knees.

 

“I've been thinking about this particular situation for a while, at least six months. How would you feel about legally adopting Rosie? We could hyphenate her name? Holmes-Watson or Watson-Holmes. That would take care of your worries about her and would make me feel a lot better about things. Rosie’s only living relative is Harry, and, while she loves Rosie, being a mum has never been something she’s wanted. She’s a good aunt, but she’d be a bad mother.”

 

“This is something you’d really want? You trust me enough to raise her if something should happen to you?”

 

“Of course! I’ve been thinking about this since we moved back in. You don’t see it, but everyone else sees the love you both have for each other. I would want no one else to take care of her, should something happen to me.”

 

Sherlock pushed his temple harder against John’s right pectoral. John raised and slid his right arm around Sherlock and pulled him in tight.

 

“I trust you with her more than anyone. And she feels the same about you.” John cleared his throat. “I know we’ve never really talked about this, since ‘this’ is still sort of new for us. As far as our access to each other in cases like this, I’m not really looking to get married, at least not yet. You’ve always said marriage is rather banal, and my experience with it wasn’t exactly positive. Would you be okay with taking advantage of Mycroft’s good graces for a bit longer?” John pressed a kiss to Sherlock's hair.

 

“For as long as you need, John.” Sherlock hummed in appreciation at John’s small gesture of affection.

 

“All I need, right now, is you here with me. And a nap. A nap sounds great, actually. I think you could use one, too. The drugs cocktail they’ve got me on is making me sleepy.”

 

They snuggled in close. Sherlock draped his right arm across John’s chest as they settled. The only thing Sherlock needed to fall asleep was the sound of John’s beating heart under his ear.

 

 

 

John was awakened 2 hours later by Iain. Sherlock snored softly on John’s chest while he took John’s vitals, changed his IV bags and asked him to rate his current pain level. They whispered each question and answer, in hopes of letting Sherlock get a bit more rest. No such luck.

 

“I felt your breathing pattern change.” Sherlock muttered groggily. “Are you okay?”

 

“Just Iain. He was here to ask me a bunch of questions. He’s gone to check on his other patients. Just lie there and rest. I like you where you are. You’re nice and warm, where this cheap blanket is most definitely not.”

 

“M’kay, John.” And just like that, he was asleep. John shook his head and smiled, and tilted his neck to look at the ceiling. Only long cases and family crises made Sherlock this tired.

 

As his thumb traced Sherlock’s shoulder, John reflected upon their earlier conversation. Would he ever want to get married again? Would Sherlock want to get married, EVER? On the flip side of things, Sherlock said he was married to his work, and is now lying on a hospital bed in John’s arms. It took them almost nine years to get here, but John had never thought they would be THEM. Especially not the ‘them’, the ‘we’, they are now. And he never envisioned Sherlock as a father. Much less one who seems to like being called ‘Papa’ and enjoys reading an inquisitive little girl stories at her bedtime. Sherlock has mellowed a bit with age. John would also like to think he’d had a bit to do with the gentling of Sherlock's demeanour. As his personal assistant in the ways of the social world; the originator of the ‘bit not good’ phrase should be able to take a bit of the credit. But deep down, John knew that Sherlock had always had this version of himself inside, buried under embarrassment and fear of rejection. John’s presence in his life just seemed to help him along. The addition of Rosie, well, she made an already compassionate, loyal, and deeply (hidden) sweet man all the more spectacular. John hugged him tight and kissed his temple. Marrying this man was undoubtedly something to think long and hard about.

 

***********************************************************************************

Sherlock stirred an hour later. With a stifled yawn, he lifted his head to make sure John was still asleep and then turned onto his back and slipped his mobile from his pocket. He sent texts off to Molly and Lestrade to let them know about John’s condition. He then (begrudgingly) sent a thank you text off to Mycroft. He quickly set the device to vibrate so as not to wake John when the replies began to arrive.

 

Molly was first and was happy to hear the prognosis for John’s recovery. She also told him about her afternoon with Rosie and that she seemed relatively unscathed by the events of the day. Sherlock let out a relieved breath at that.

 

Sherlock put his phone on his thigh and found John’s left hand between their bodies. He entwined their fingers, despite John’s sleep-slackened hand. He scooted up the bed a bit, wanting to be closer to John’s face. He turned to face him and pushed his nose into John’s hair. He could still smell his shampoo from that morning. It was barely past five o’clock. They’d been home, been their version of a family less than seven hours ago, and now look; Sherlock had come so close to losing the only person he’d let himself truly love, and, shortly after that, he’d have lost the second person to be able to make that claim.

 

Marriage. John had actually brought up the option of marriage. To him. Sherlock had never thought for one minute in his entire life, that someone would want to be his friend, let alone be his spouse. Not that he was really keen on being someone’s husband. He’d seen Lestrade’s and Anderson’s relationships self-destruct, both because of cheating wives. So many of the domestic cases he’d been a part of had been because of the dissolving of a relationship because of the disillusionment of that relationship’s health. Most examples he’s seen of marriage in his life were not all that positive, save for his parents’ marriage. Hell, John’s marriage to Mary was just a series of lies and manipulations. At least Rosie had been a product of that relationship. Sherlock smiled at the thought of her. Mycroft would never let him hear the end of that, if he’d been here to see that. Speaking of…

 

Sherlock picked up his phone, slid from John’s embrace, and pressed a kiss to his open mouth. “I’ll be right back.” He hoped John would hear him in his dreams.

 

As he exited the room, and tapped at his mobile and then held it to his ear: “Yes. I’m calling and not texting. Yes. John is fine. He’s asleep. I’m currently in the hallway outside of his room. I need you to do me another favour, Mycroft.”

 

After speaking with Mycroft, Sherlock decided he would go down to the cafeteria to get himself and John something for dinner. While he was waiting, he was able to speak to Lestrade and tell him about John’s condition. He brought up tea and toast with honey for himself, and a sandwich for John when he woke up.

 

When he walked into John’s room, he was awake and sitting up, the extra pillow behind his left shoulder. Sherlock rose an eyebrow.

 

“Before you go lecturing, no, I didn’t do all of this on my own. Iain helped me sit up and get situated. I woke up, you were gone, and I needed help using the loo. So I paged Iain.”

 

Sherlock's face fell. “I only stepped out for twenty minutes. I had some texts to respond to and I spoke to Lestrade. I also wanted to get you something to eat. I’d hoped to make it back before you woke up.”

 

“Sherlock, come here, please.” John curled his right index finger toward himself, beckoning the detective closer. “Drop the food on the table here and bring your face down here.”

 

Sherlock obliged and tossed the food on the overbed table. “You weren’t able to help me ONE TIME. You do realise that when I come home, you’re going to be the sole person to be able to help me. You’re going to have to help me piss, Sherlock.”

 

Another eyebrow raise.

 

“It won’t be as sexy as it sounds. Especially after the first week. My arm’s going to be in a sling for a few weeks and after that, I’m going to have to really take it easy. You’re going to be doing most of the cooking, straightening up, and nappy changes. I can do some things, but it’s going to be slower going with just one arm. And I’m telling you now, I’m going to be grumpy. You know how I get when I feel like I’m not doing my fair share. I know, I know. I’m injured. But that still won’t make me any less helpless when I see you doing eighty percent of what used be mainly split between us.”

 

“Are you trying to put me off? Because it’s not working. I will do all of those things if it means I can get you back to you being yourself. I will drive you anywhere and everywhere...”

 

“Christ! I won’t even be able to drive! I completely forgot about that!” A frustrated sigh.

 

“Anyway, you and I, we are a team. You’re hurt and I’m not. Therefore, I’ll be taking the brunt for the time being. I’ll be taking you back and forth to physical therapy when you’re allowed to go. I’ll be fluffing your pillows and washing your hair. I’ll shave that handsome face and make your meals. And I’ll do all of those things with a smile on my face. Because you are alive and whole and home with me and Rosie.”

 

“Oh, love.” John grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him down for a kiss. Sherlock sat down on the bed and leaned towards John, getting his arms under John’s back and hugging him close, being very careful of John’s shoulder.

 

“I mean it.” A kiss to John’s throat. “I’ll actually smile.” To his chin. “You’ll think I’m madder than you already think I am.” A press of lips. Then they were forehead to forehead. “I’m so glad you’re all right, that I will do all of those things, happily and with zero complaints.”

 

“Zero?”

 

“John, I’m going to get to help you urinate. Things aren’t going to be all bad for me.”

 

John threw his head back and snorted out a laugh.

 

“Are you hungry? I brought you up a turkey sandwich and a roll of Hobnobs.”

 

“Oh, God. I’m starving! You do love me!”

 

“We’re sharing the Hobnobs. They’re dark chocolate.”

 

After they finished their meal, John asked, “Why don’t you head home? I’m sure Rosie would love to see you. Molly probably wants to head home for the evening. You can get Rosie ready for bed, read her a story. Sleep on a real bed without being afraid of falling off of it. Take a shower and then come back tomorrow.”

 

“Do you want me to go?”

 

“There’s really nothing here that you can do for me. The nurses are going to be in and out of here all night, and they’re going to wake you, too. Plus, you can bring me a few things when you come back tomorrow.”

 

“I suppose you’re right. I’ll bring your slippers, some toiletries, your mobile charger. A change of clothes for when you get to come home. Anything else?”

 

“Just your face. All the rest of those things are a bonus.”

 

Sudden sentiment. That always threw Sherlock for a loop. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep without you.”

 

“You could always bunk with Rosie. You can sleep on that chair we rock her in. Or bring her into our room and have her sleep with you. A little sleep-over with Papa. What a lucky girl! A sleep-over with Nana one night and then one with Papa the next! I’m pretty jealous!”

 

“Enjoy your time without me. When I get you home, you won’t be leaving my sight!”

 

“Get out of here, so I can get to missing you!”

 

Sherlock rose from his chair and ran a hand through John’s hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

 

“I’ll be waiting. Give Rosie a kiss from me. I love you, too.” There was a kiss goodbye and Sherlock left. In the hallway heading towards the lift, he could already feel the beginnings of a restless night.

 

He came home to the sounds of giggling. A smile returned to his lips. He walked the flight of steps to the flat and opened the door to see Molly and Rosie playing what appeared to be hide-and-seek. Molly was pretending to search for Rosie, but that was pointless. She could see the top of her head poking around the back of the sofa. She was completely unaware of Sherlock's presence. He took full advantage. He pressed a long finger to his lips, warning Molly of his intent. He got down on the floor and crawled around the back of the sofa, sat down and tapped Rosie on her shoulder.

 

“PAPA!!!!” She exclaimed when she turned around. She jumped into his arms and sent them back on the floor.

 

“Oh, hello my dearest girl! I missed you so much!” He pushed back her hair so he could see her face as he sat up with a groan. “Did you have a lovely day with Auntie Molly?”

 

She nodded as she peppered his face with kisses. He stood and looked across the sitting room at Molly, who had sat down on John’s chair. She would never tire of seeing Sherlock being a dad. He sat across from her, Rosie now on his lap.

 

“She was wonderful today. Went down for her nap with no problems. She asked for you and d-a-d-d-y a few times but I just told her you were working with G-r-e-g.” As if she understood, or more likely, realized his absence, Rosie looked at the flat’s door and then back to Sherlock. “Daddy?”

 

“Daddy is busy helping Greg with something, sweetheart. How would you like a bubble bath and a story before bed? You pick!”

 

She climbed down from his lap and ran towards the bathroom. He was grateful for her easy distractibility.

 

“Could I make you something for supper when I have her settled?”

 

“Oh, no! I made myself some macaroni and cheese and ate with her an hour ago. I’m going to check in with work before I go home. I left in a bit of a rush after Greg texted me.”

 

“Thank you again, Molly. You are, as ever, most helpful.”

 

Molly stood and collected her coat. “I was glad to. And will be whenever I’m able. Please try and get some sleep tonight, okay?”

 

Sherlock walked across the room and gave Molly a quick hug. “I will do my best.”

 

“Papa! I’m weddy for my baff now!”

 

They laughed as the hug broke apart. “Let me know how John is doing and if you need me again!” Molly buttoned up her coat and Sherlock opened the door for her. She passed through and waved before she headed down the stairs.

 

 

After four rousing renditions of Row, Row, Row Your Boat while Rosie played with her nautical themed toys in the bathtub, Sherlock got her up to bed and read her the two books she’d picked out. When Sherlock closed the second book, Rosie’s eyes were drooping. She loved his voice, its soothing tone; that’s why he was usually the one who got to read to her every night. He was lying next to her on her toddler bed, her head on his side. He set the books down on her night table and slipped from underneath her, laying her head softly down on her pillow. She snuffled a bit and resettled. Sherlock knelt on the floor and put his chin on the mattress, and just watched her breathe. He and John used to this all the time after the two of them moved back in with Sherlock. Sherlock would stand over her while she was in her cot, his hand on her back as she slept, amazed at how much he loved this little person, this little piece of John. He marveled that he was  _allowed_  to love her in such close proximity to himself. That John brought her here, trusted Sherlock enough to raise her under the same roof as an addict, a mad scientist, an arrogant sod. Now, he was her other father. John wanted him to be responsible for her if something ever happened to him. Her legal guardian. John offered to hyphenate her name, to make Sherlock a real part of their small family. Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat as he watched her sleep now, her hair a bit lighter than John’s. Same nose. When she was awake, she would look at him, and he was unable to deny her a thing, her eyes the same blue as her father’s. When she realised that he was wrapped around her finger, he would be well and truly in very deep trouble. He stood slowly, ran a finger over her temple, and leaned forward and kissed her forehead. He closed the door quietly behind him and made his way to the sitting room.

 

He spent the majority of the next four hours tapping away at his laptop, answering emails that had piled up during the day, and then researching the likely path of John’s physical therapy and recovery. A little after midnight, he supposed he should attempt to get some sleep. He gathered up Rosie’s toys, then wandered into the kitchen, did a once-over of the room and found it to his satisfaction.

 

He ambled down the hall to the loo and set about his routine. After brushing his teeth, and setting out clean clothes for himself for the morning, he stepped into the bedroom and decided to change the sheets. As he threw them in a dirty pile on the floor, he realized he’d forgotten to pack some things for John. He grabbed John’s duffel out of the cupboard and set about taking John everything he’d need for the next day or so. His slippers under the bed, his black and grey stripedness dressing gown, a pair of jeans and a soft jumper. John’s mobile’s charger. He moved back to the loo and grabbed John’s comb and toothbrush from the top of the washbasin, and his shampoo and soap from the shelf in the shower. He wouldn’t be there for more than two to three more days, so there was no real sense in bringing much more than that. He shoved everything inside and zippered the duffel and walked back out to the sitting room and placed it by the flat’s main door. He glanced around the room a final time and sighed resignedly. He’d put it off long enough. Time to go to bed.

 

He slid between the sheets and laid on his back. He forced his eyes closed, tried to let the blackness behind his eyelids lure him to sleep. He flipped onto his side, and then the other. Restlessness. He knew this was going to happen. He predicted it hours before. He should’ve stayed with John at the hospital. This was impossible! He inhaled sharply and caught John’s scent from the pillows next to him. He rolled his eyes at his own slow-wittedness. He dragged himself to John’s side and pressed his nose to the pillow and took in a slow inhale. He sighed in relief. This would have to do. He resettled himself on John’s side, turned the pillow, and held onto it between his arms. After a few long-held breaths, Sherlock finally settled and let John’s scent relax him enough for sleep.

 

 

He woke to find navy blue eyes staring at him. He blinked a few times, trying to clear sleep’s cobwebs.

 

“Hello, Rosamund. Good morning.”

 

“Mornin’ Papa. You sweep good?”

 

Sherlock rolled back to his side of the bed and grabbed his mobile. Six thirty. He lifted the duvet and invited her to climb up and join him. “I’d really enjoy a bit more sleep if that’s all right with you?”

 

“I cuddle you, Papa. We sweep a bit more til time for bweakfass.”

 

He opened his arms and she squirmed into his embrace. Mutual hugs and mutual sighs. At seven forty-five, he was the next to wake.

 

“Rosie. Wake up, darling. I think it’s time for breakfast.”

 

She stirred in his arms, and he whispered, “How would you like eggs, bacon, and toast for breakfast?”

 

She was instantly excited. “Yaaaay! Where’s Daddy? He wikes eggs and bacun.”

 

Sherlock was struck suddenly by an idea. “He’s still with Greg, love. Maybe we can bring him something to eat.”

 

“Okay! Let’s go to kitch’in and I hep you wiff bweakfass. Let’s go! Wanna see daddy!”

 

‘So do I.’ Sherlock thought to himself. While the eggs and bacon were frying, Sherlock picked up his mobile and sent off a hopeful text. Less than a minute elapsed, and Sherlock received the message he’d hoped for.

 

“Time to eat, Rosamund! Do me a favour and pick out a few toys you’d like to play with today. We’re going on a little adventure!”

 

After a shower and the clean-up of a messy-eating toddler, Sherlock hailed a cab. With her bag of toys and John’s duffel in his left hand and Rosie’s hand in his right, they made their way through the doors of Saint Thomas’ Hospital.

 

“We’re going to visit someone here, Rosamund. This is a hospital. People here are sometimes sick or hurt. And we have to be very careful not to hurt them if we hug or kiss them, do you understand?”

 

She nodded and said, “Yes, Papa. Who we seein’”

 

“You’ll see in a minute, sweet girl.”

 

They rounded a corner, and they saw him at the same time. John was dressed in dark green scrubs, his left arm in a sling. He was sitting in the family lounge, on the edge of the seat, tapping his feet impatiently.

 

“DADDY DADDY DADDY!!!!!!!” Rosie yelled as she released Sherlock's hand and ran through the open door.

 

“Be careful, Rosamund! Remember what I told you!” He shook his head in defeat and John smiled.

 

John was prepared for the direct hit. He turned the left side of his body behind him, to absorb most of the impact with the right side of his chest.

 

“Oh my goodness! Look who it is! I missed you so much, my little bee!”

 

“Daddy! I miss you, too!” She climbed up on his lap, and Sherlock could only grimace as he entered the room behind her.

 

“I’m sorry, John. I tried to explain the situation as best as I could to her, but I think she was just too excited to see you to remember.”

 

“It’s okay, love. I’ve come to the realisation that she’s going to inadvertently hurt me a million times over the next few months.” John’s face contorted in pain as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheeks. “May as well get used to it now rather than later. Come here. I missed you, too. Sleeping without you last night was even harder than I thought. Despite the morphine.”

 

Sherlock dropped the bags on the floor and stooped in front of John and Rosie. He gave John a chaste kiss over the top of her head. “Auntie Molly said this little girl was very well-behaved for her yesterday afternoon. She was also a big helper to me this morning. She picked out some toys to play with when we go back up to your room.”

 

“I just knew you’d be a good girl for Auntie Molly and Papa!”

 

Rosie sat back a bit on John’s knee. Before this moment, she’d been blinded by excitement and was completely unaware of the sling.

 

“Daddy hurt?”

 

“I hurt my shoulder helping Greg yesterday. I’ll be good as new before you know it.”

 

“Gweg ‘k?”

 

“Yes, Rosie, Greg is okay. You’re sweet to ask about him. Let me stand up, Rose. I want to show you my room. I think you’ll like it, I even have my own loo!”

 

 

She climbed back down to the floor and stood next to Sherlock. She held out her hand and tried to help John off the chair.

“I think you’re going to have someone competing with you to be my caretaker, Sherlock!”

 

“I welcome the challenge. Let’s go see Daddy’s room, Rosamund.” Sherlock placed a hand on her back to guide her out of the room.

 

As they walked down the hall to the lifts, each of them had one of Rosie’s hands and Sherlock switched the bags to his right hand for this trip. They talked as they walked:

 

“I saw my surgeon and my physical therapist early this morning. Based on my answers to their questions, they think I can leave tomorrow evening. I have a therapy session scheduled for early this afternoon and another for tomorrow before I leave. She’s going to show me a few things I can do at home and then some other exercises to incorporate in a few weeks once things have begun to heal.”

 

“Is there anything I need to know? Should I go with you to these sessions?”

 

“I suppose you could, but I really doubt that there’s going to much for you to do in this case. Since it’s my arm and not a leg or my back, I don’t think a second person will be much good.” Sherlock’s face fell a bit at that.

 

“But, I will ask her if there are any types of massages  _someone_  could do for me. You know, Sherlock, massages have been known to speed healing, be relaxing, and be very therapeutic for people recovering from injuries.”

 

John’s compassion for Sherlock’s feelings will always be something he has trouble believing in. His self-doubt coupled with his disbelief of the ability of others to care about him will be something he will have to overcome, every day. John knows this and seems willing to show him, every day, that he is beloved and cherished. Sherlock just cast a sideways glance at John, who had turned his head to give him a smirky wink. The little shit.

 

They entered John’s room, Rosie eyed everything she saw with an air of wariness. Sherlock decided it was time to bring out the bacon they brought for John.

 

“I thought I smelled bacon!” John exclaimed as he snatched the bag from Sherlock’s hand. “I’ve only been here for twenty-four hours, but it feels like I haven’t had decent food in a week! Fantastic idea bringing me this.” he said through a mouthful of bacon. He smiled as he crunched his way through a slice.

 

“I halped Papa make bweakfass, Daddy!”

 

“Did you? I bet he was so grateful for that!”

 

“She did. She helped get me the bread and got the egg carton out of the refrigerator for me.”

 

Sherlock watched John chomp happily through the bacon with a smirk.

 

“Even in your state, you still eat as though nothing’s happened.”

 

“My shoulder is hurt, Sherlock, not my jaw.”

 

“Keep it up and you’ll need a blender and a straw for the rest of it.”

 

John almost spat the bacon across the room. He was glad to see Sherlock being a little more upbeat about the situation.

 

“I’m gonna go lie down on the bed if it’s okay with you. I’m a little tired, and they’ve cut me down to oral pain medication, so the pain is a little more intense now than it had been.”

 

“Do you need something? Should I page a nurse?”

 

“Nope. I just need you two and this bacon. I’m due for more pain pills in an hour. I have therapy an hour after that. They did that on purpose, so therapy wouldn’t be too painful for me. Do you think we should talk to the little miss about what’s going on?”

 

“I probably should have sat her down and talked to her, gave it a little time to register with her before she saw you and launched herself bodily towards you.”

 

“Daddy? Can I come up wiff yew?”

 

“Sure! But you have to be careful of my shoulder, okay?”

 

“What hap’n?”

 

John glanced up at Sherlock before he continued. They’d yet to talk about this part, and John wasn’t sure what Sherlock had already told her.

 

“I was helping Greg at work, and I hurt my shoulder. A doctor fixed me right up. I even get to come home to you and Sherlock tomorrow night? Isn’t that great?” He leaned over the bed and tickled her behind the ear. She scrunched up her neck and giggled. “Sherlock, could you set her up here with me?”

 

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

 

Sherlock set her down on John’s right side, and then he went to sit on his chair when John said, “Why so far away? You can slide that chair right over here and keep us company.”

 

Sherlock lowered his head. He was still surprised when he was included in these little moments, even though he had every reason not to be.

 

“Sure, just give me a second to drag it over.” he spluttered out. HE brought the bag with Rosie’s toys over as well. He took out her stuffed bumble bee and handed it to her. She snuggled it to herself and laid back against John.

 

Once it was settled, he sat on John’s left. He had barely laid a hand on John since he and Rosie had arrived, and he decided that was a tragedy. He leaned forward, left elbow on the mattress, and slid his right hand under John’s left against his chest. John’s expression at the realisation of what Sherlock had just done, created an expression that was so unbearably fond, Sherlock felt himself melt.

 

“I can’t wait until you come home tomorrow.”

 

“I can’t either, love.” John intertwined their fingers and gave it a light squeeze. Sherlock kissed John’s elbow and pressed his chin to John’s hip as he watched John and Rosie take turns holding her bee in the air while making buzzing noises.

 

***********************************************************************************

Mrs. Hudson brought Rosie to the hospital the following afternoon. Sherlock went with John to his therapy session and was shown a few things he would be able to do to help, including a few gentle massages. After a bit of arguing, and even more pleading, John was released to go home a few hours early. Mrs. Hudson watched over Rosie while Sherlock helped John with his bags. The Baker Street Foursome went home together.

 

A week after John came home, an envelope came by priority post. Mycroft came through on his promise to Sherlock, and official papers came for Rosie’s name change, (Rosamund Mary Watson-Holmes) Sherlock’s new official role as her legal, adoptive father, and the Power of Attorney forms were in the same envelope. Sherlock signed everything that he needed to, but John seemed reluctant to sign his. They were still in the envelope, on the small table next to his chair. Sherlock definitely noticed their looming presence and the implications of John’s reluctance.

 

In the weeks that followed, John realised exactly how much he would actually need to rely on Sherlock. He needed his help to dress, using cutlery, washing the right side of his body, tying his shoes, lifting anything more than a few pounds, carrying more than two bags of shopping, folding laundry, and the worst thing: holding his own daughter. He was, to say the very least, a bit cantankerous. Sherlock knew the reason for his surly attitude was only because of John’s fierce streak of independence and the need to be the one helping others instead of being the one receiving it.

 

Three weeks after his release from hospital, nine visits to therapy, and a particularly embarrassing moment of not being able to push his left arm through the sleeve of a jumper without help, John’s temper cut a little too deeply. Sherlock was trying to adjust the sleeve without wrecking the shape of the garment when:

 

“Damn it, Sherlock! I can get my own bloody arm through my own bloody sleeve!”

 

“It would appear that you are mistaken. Unless having your jumper in complete disarray and your left side trapped in the hole where your head should be is you having this under control, I’m actually right here and happy to help you.”

 

“And why is that? Why are you happy to help, hmmmm? Why are you under-foot? You’ve barely left me alone since I’ve been home. I can take care of myself. I’m forty-seven years old, and a former Captain in her Majesty’s Army, a combat surgeon, not a fucking invalid!”

He wasn’t even finished saying the last sentence when he felt as though he was having an out-of-body experience. That moment where you’re speaking, and it’s almost as though you’re watching yourself doing or saying something, or hearing the words coming out of your mouth but not being able to stop the release of whatever was holding the words hostage to being with. Then instantly regretting it, but being powerless to stop yourself from saying it. That was what happened here.

 

Oh no. Shit. That look on Sherlock’s face. John hadn’t seen that expression in a very long time. Not since he was on the floor of a morgue, bleeding and broken, and accepting blame for something he didn’t do, to just make John feel better about things. To, yet again, justify John’s horrible temper. The frequently worn mask of cold indifference was now there in place of the warm smile that had been etched on his face for most of the last year.

 

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Sherlock’s voice was chilled, the frame of his body taut. He turned on his heel and made his way down the hallway to their bedroom. John heard the click of the door as it closed and then the turning of the lock.

 

John stood alone in the sitting room, his left arm still uselessly dangling at his side. He didn’t deserve Sherlock. He should be alone. Forever.

 

For his penance, John made himself feed and bathe Rosie alone, swallowing down the pain radiating down his arm like cough medicine. He had limited usage of his left shoulder and arm, and he used his allotment for the tasks at hand. As he watched her in the bathtub, he sat on the floor, his head resting against the bedroom door. Not a sound. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the room behind him was empty.

 

Once she got him sufficiently soaked, he toweled her off, took her upstairs and read her a story. He came back downstairs and realised he should get his pyjamas and a pillow and bunk on the couch tonight.

 

He knocked on the door. Silence. He knocked again, a bit louder, and said, “Sherlock. I just need to come in and get my pyjamas and a pillow. I’ll leave you be after that.” Not a word. “You didn’t lock this door, so I’m just gonna come in and gather my things and let you be.”

 

He twisted the knob and stepped into the dark room. Sherlock was on his side of the bed, his back facing John and the room. John walked quietly to his side and picked up his pillow and the pyjamas lying across the room’s chair. He thought he should grab a blanket, so he walked over to the cupboard to dig around for a spare. He opened the door and slid a few of the pieces of hung up clothing out of the way until he saw something he thought he’d never see again.

 

“Sherlock? Where did this come from?”

 

He finally spoke, his voice flat and even, zero inflection.“I ordered it from my tailor. The colour had been discontinued, but he had four of them saved for me in his stock room. I bought them all. There are three more in the cupboard, on the shelf, all still wrapped. I had one cleaned and pressed. One of the days I wasn’t under-foot.”

 

John felt as though he’d been stabbed again.

 

“I never thought I’d get to see you in that shirt again. Will I ever? See you in it, I mean. I know I don’t deserve it, especially after what I said to you tonight.”

 

“I don’t know John. Do you want to? Do you want me to be around at all?” Sherlock sat up, his eyes wide and wet. “It certainly seems to me like you’d rather I wasn’t. Do you want me to destroy all of the documents involving my adoption of Rosie?”

 

“Of course not! Why would say something like that? I’m the one who suggested it!”

 

Sherlock's eyes were full of fire now, despite the tears threatening to fall. “Then why haven’t you signed your parts of the Power of Attorney documents? They’ve been sitting on your side table for two weeks! Mycroft’s been asking me what the hold up is since I was so vehement that they were of vital importance and required immediate consideration. I’ve sat across from you, watched you sit next to those papers for a fortnight! And I’ve yet to see you read them let alone sign them!”

 

“Sherlock. Wait.”

 

“Wait? That’s all I’ve DONE is wait!” Sherlock was vibrating with frustration. Then a look of dawning realisation. “Ohhh. I know what’s going on. You’ve changed your mind. About me. About me adopting Rosie. You don’t want her to be mine if something happens to you. You don’t want me to be this important to your family of two. I get it. I do. Why would someone want a recovering addict in charge of a child? Who would want someone like me in charge of making medical decisions on their behalf if they’re unable to do so themselves?” Sherlock shot off the bed and made for the door.

 

“Sherlock! You’re spinning this situation into something it isn’t. Stop! Wait!” As he went to unlock it, John grabbed his shoulder to stop him, to spin him around.

 

Sherlock flinched.

 

What the fuck?

 

“Sherlock? What’s wrong? Why did you just do that? Why did you flinch when I touched you?”

 

“Aren’t you going to hit me?”

 

John immediately had tears in his eyes at the severity of what was actually happening between them.

 

“No, Sherlock. No, love. That’s NEVER, EVER going to happen again.”

 

“You haven’t been as angry with me as you were earlier. Like you are now. I just figured something like that, like what happened in the mortuary might happen again someday. I know I’m not easy to be with, let alone live with.”

 

“Please turn around, sweetheart. Please. I don’t want to have this conversation with your back, and you shouldn’t be looking at a door. Please. Turn around for me.” John touched his back softly and circled his fingers against Sherlock’s shoulder.

 

Sherlock took a deep breath and turned around. John showed him his right hand before bringing it towards his face. John felt like he was engaging with a frightened animal. In a way, he sort of was. He cupped Sherlock’s cheek, thumb dragging across the wet streaks tracking down his face, tears dripping off his neck and onto John’s bare toes.

 

“I will never, for as long as I live, raise a hand to you. I will never, ever, touch you with anything other than love and reverence for the rest of my life. No matter how angry we get at each other. It will never happen again. I promise. On my life. On Rosie’s life. Never. I promise you. I vow to myself that I will never let myself get that out of control again.”

 

Sherlock just cried harder. “Okay. Okay, John. I believe you.”

 

“I can’t believe this is happening. You actually thought I was going to hurt you again. After all we’ve been through together. After Mary, after your relapse and Culverton Smith. That house of horrors with Mycroft and Eurus. The start of the most beautiful relationship I’ve ever been in. How could you think that I’d” (a beat) “oh my God. I never apologised. Did I?”

 

John looked like he was scanning his own memory for a visual confirmation that he had told Sherlock how sorry he was for all of it, for everything. But no such memory existed, because it never actually happened.

 

John slipped his left arm out of the sling with a low growl. He brought his left hand to mirror his right and stood on tiptoes. He pressed his lips to Sherlock’s. Mouthed at the tears on his face, kissed them away.

 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I will always be sorry for that. For blaming you, for hurting you, and for never saying so. The record is being set straight now. It won’t skip again. I won’t slip again.” He stood flat-footed again and leaned forward and took a step closer. He put his arms around Sherlock and hugged him tight, his head tucked under Sherlock's chin. “You don’t have to say you forgive me if you can’t yet. Just, please let me try to earn your trust back. Let me show you I can be a better man. A man that deserves to have you.”

 

“We've deserved each other since the moment we met, John. It’s just, at times, we’ve both been terrible at showing each other how much we love each other without doing something foolish. I forgave you for what happened while I was lying on that floor. I forgave you before it was over.”

 

“Oh, Sherlock!” They held each other as they leant against the door to their bedroom, hands moving soothingly up and down the other’s backs, nuzzling their faces into neck and throats.

 

After a few minutes, when the tears stopped, Sherlock spoke. “I would like it very much if you would stay in here with me tonight.”

 

“I would love that, too. I’m going to use the loo and I’ll be back in a few minutes.” John kissed Sherlock's chin and went to brush his teeth.

 

When John returned, Sherlock had changed his clothes. To the purple shirt from the closet. And nothing else. He was lying on the bed, shirttails barely covering his groin area, duvet folded back in invitation.

 

“Sherlock? What are you doing?”

 

“Is my intention not perfectly obvious? Should I just take the shirt off to make my objective plain?” A bit of snark. That was always a good sign.

 

“NO! I mean no. Please leave it on.”

 

“That’s what I thought you’d say. Get in here.” Sherlock patted the mattress in an invitation, his grin lascivious.

 

John took off the pyjamas he’d just put on in the loo and bounded around to his side of the bed, his clothes falling on the floor behind him as he went.

 

“I thought I’d seen the last of that shirt a month ago. I love that you remembered what we said to each other that morning.”

 

“There are very few things you’ve said to me that I’ve forgotten. I love that you love this shirt so much.”

 

John reached for Sherlock and hauled him on top of himself. “You’ll need to watch out for my shoulder, but I’d really like to do this with you tonight. I think we’ve given me plenty of time to heal, don’t you?”

 

“More than.” Sherlock claimed John’s mouth with a hard kiss. Wasting no time, he licked at John’s lower lip, parting John’s mouth with his warm tongue. John groaned underneath him, his right arm caging Sherlock to him. Their lips moved together, and their hips followed. Sherlock’s left hand went to cup John’s neck and John arched his upper back, pressing his neck harder into Sherlock's hand.

 

“Sherlock. Would you like to try something? I remember promising you that morning I was injured, that we could try something we’ve never done before.” Sherlock stopped nipping at John’s neck and leaned back to see John’s face.

 

“What did you have in mind? Exactly?”

 

“Well, when we do this, I’m always the one who gets to be inside you. And, I’d really like to try it the other way ‘round. I want to know what it feels like to have you inside of me.”

 

A look of both disbelief and hope from Sherlock. “Are you sure? You’ve never seemed interested in changing that dynamic of our sex life before now.”

 

“I’ve always figuratively felt you inside me. I think from the moment I handed you my phone for the first time over eight years ago. I think I really want to know what you literally feel like.”

 

“I don’t want to hurt you, John. I couldn’t bear to see you hurt.”

 

“There is no way you could hurt me. You’re going to make me feel so good. As good as I hopefully make you feel every time we do this.”

 

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you, or if I do something you don’t like?”

 

“Like you always do for me? Of course.”

 

“Can I make you comfortable? I don’t want to hurt your shoulder.”

 

“I think we should keep me on my back. A pillow under my shoulder and one under my bum should do the trick, yeah?” An encouraging smile from John. We should also get that shirt off of you before we ruin it.”

 

“I have three more.” A single eyebrow raise.

 

“Let me at least unbutton it.” John laughed in spite of himself. Sherlock let John unbutton the shirt, but he left it on.

 

“Give me a second to grab everything we need.”

 

Sherlock leaned over John and grabbed the lubricant they keep under the pillow, and then grabbed his own pillows from his side of the bed. He placed one under John’s left scapula and side and then the other under John’s lower back and bum to give Sherlock better access to John’s hole. He tossed the lube next to John’s right knee.

 

“Well, I think I need you down here with me.”

 

John reached for and grabbed Sherlock’s wrist and pulled him back on top of himself. “C’mere, love. A kiss to Sherlock's forehead. “This is going to be wonderful.” A kiss to his cheek. “It’s going to be wonderful because it’s you” - a peck to his mouth - “and me.” At that, Sherlock seemed to lose a bit if his inhibition. He brought his hands to John’s neck, his long fingers splayed behind it as he nipped and licked at John’s mouth. He brought his teeth to John’s lower lip and nibbled there for a few seconds before licking at the seam of John’s lips. John opened his mouth with a groan and Sherlock dove inside, his own tongue licking at John’s teeth. Their tongues caressed each other and the kiss became heated. John draped his right arm around Sherlock’s back and arched his own, breaking the kiss but exposing his neck. Sherlock took the hint and bit and kissed and licked and nipped, leaving teeth marks and the beginnings of reddish purple bruises. Marks for them both to see tomorrow.

 

“John. Can I?”

 

“Christ, Sherlock. Please. I need you to touch me.”

 

That was all the encouragement Sherlock needed. He slid down John’s body and picked up the lube, kissing down John’s chest and belly as he went. John spread his knees when he felt Sherlock's hands on his upper thighs.

 

“C’mon, Sherlock. I want you inside of me.”

 

Sherlock captured John’s right knee and bent it, placing John’s foot on his own thigh. He opened the lube with a click and touched John’s rim, his index finger tracing light circles around it before finally slipping inside. He kissed John’s knee, mouthing at the skin covered in prickly blond hair as he slid inside and then back out, giving John’s muscle a chance to get used to the penetration. A low whine came from deep inside John’s chest as he forced himself to remain calm and still.

 

“John?” A lick to John’s knee. “Are you all right? Do you need me to stop?”

 

“Stop? Are you insane?” He was breathing hard now, almost panting. “Another one, Sherlock. Please.”

 

Sherlock pulled his index finger out, trickled a bit more lube on his index and middle fingers and moved back and inside John’s loosened hole.

 

“Oh my God. Sherlock. Fuck. That feels so good. Turn your fingers and feel for, OH MY GOD!” John’s hips raised from the pillow under his bum.

 

Sherlock smirked, the picture of smugness.

 

“First try. You found it on your first try!” John laughed in disbelief, as his head was rolling back and forth on his pillow, sweat collecting at his hairline and on his torso.

 

“I know how it feels when you do this for me.” Another knee kiss and a gentle graze of his hand up and down John’s thigh. Sherlock began to scissor his fingers, and every few seconds, giving John’s prostate a firm but gentle swirl with the pads of his fingers.

 

“Sherlock. Please. Enough. Now. Please.”

 

“One more finger.”

 

“No. No more fingers. Your cock. Right now. Please. I’ll beg if it makes you get on with it!”

 

Sherlock laughed at John’s boldness. “Do I say these things to you?” Sherlock removed his fingers and bent and kissed John’s hole.

 

“No. You usually go non-verbal and just- Oh my God! Did you just…?”

 

“I most certainly did.” He took hold of John’s right leg and curved it around his own bum and shimmied closer to John’s body. He touched his own cock for the first time, spreading lube from root to tip and back again. He leant over and kissed John’s cock as it laid against John’s belly.

 

“Are you ready?” he asked, his mouth against the shaft of John’s cock, breathing hot and panting hard, voice low in his own throat.

 

John could only nod, as he moved his leg to the small of Sherlock's back and pulled Sherlock even closer to his own body.

 

With great care and concentration, he pressed the head of his cock through the tight muscle’s resistance. John held his breath, and so did Sherlock. Once breached, Sherlock slid inside a bit further, his left hand on John’s chest.

 

“John. I need you to relax and breathe, okay?”

 

John nodded again and did as he was asked. Sherlock felt John’s hole slacken as he pressed forward, his hand still on John’s chest.

 

“John. This is fantastic.”

 

“Brilliant and amazing, too. Just like you.”

 

Sherlock pulled out slowly then pressed inside again. He became lost in the slickness of it, lost in the heat of John’s body around him.

 

“Take the lead, Sherlock. I’ve been following you since we met. You’ve been leading us this whole time without even realising it. You lead and I’ll follow.”

 

Sherlock set a sweet, unhurried pace, brushing over John’s prostate on each pullback. After a few minutes, he adjusted his aim.

 

“Right there, Sherlock! Holy shit, right there. Harder. Just like, oh. Oh God. There. There. THERE!”

 

John’s left ankle lifted from the mattress and pressed under Sherlock's ass.

 

“John. I don’t think. Don’t think I can hold out…much longer. You feel too good. You sound too good. This feels so perfect.”

 

John’s arms went to Sherlock’s back.

 

“It’s okay. Come. Don't hold back. I want to feel you come inside me. Sherlock, come on. Come inside me. Please, I’m almost there, love, don’t wait for me. Don’t stop. Kiss me. Please.”

 

Sherlock’s hips stuttered, his orgasm fast approaching. His lips found John’s, an uncoordinated kiss. He buried his face in John’s neck as he thrust faster and harder.

 

“You feel so good. You’re inside me and it feels so fucking good. It's okay, Sherlock. I'll be right behind you. Go ahead. Come, Sherlock. I want to watch you."

 

Sherlock bit John’s right shoulder as he reached his zenith, a sob twisted out of his mouth as he rode out his climax with short thrusts. John just held him through it, hand running up and down his back. Afterwards, he collapsed on John’s body, struggling to breathe.

 

"Don't let go of me. If you let go, I'll fall apart. I'm sorry, John." he managed to say between pants.

 

John held him against his chest, right leg wrapped around Sherlock's back, the left over Sherlock's right thigh, cradling Sherlock against him. "It's okay, sweetheart. Get your breath back."

 

“John. That was. Transcendent." Sherlock managed to say a few minutes later, John’s hands never ceasing their movements on Sherlock’s back.

 

“I know, I was there.” He kissed Sherlock’s sweaty curls over and over as Sherlock regained his breathing.

 

Sherlock lifted his head from John’s neck. “John? You? What do you want?”

 

“I would love your hand on me. Just your hand.”

 

Sherlock pushed himself off John’s body, his left elbow and knees pressed in the mattress, the tops of his feet on John’s thighs, his semi-hard cock still inside John. He drifted his right hand down John’s chest and belly, through the soft nest of curly dark blond and grey hair, until he reached John’s hot, thick length.

 

“John. Come on, John. I’m still inside you.” A short thrust of hips, not wanting to overstimulate himself, but wanting to get John where he needed to go.

 

“Please, John. Let me feel you come from inside. I’ve never felt that before. Please, let me feel that.” Sherlock continued his soft thrusting, kissing John’s chest. “I can feel your muscles trembling around me. Do I feel good, John?”

 

“Sherlock, I’m so full. You feel so good. I feel so good.”

 

Sherlock worked John’s cock, root to tip, sliding through the come weeping from the tip, then back down and up again.

 

“John, I love you so much. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, and I never will.”

John was writhing now, his legs tightening around Sherlock’s body as Sherlock's hand moved faster.

 

“Come, John. Let me feel you come with me inside you.”

 

John’s hips left the bed and with one more twist of Sherlock’s hand at the head of John’s cock, John was coming, spattering both of their chests with his hot release.

 

Sherlock’s cock was oversensitive, so he let it slip from John’s body as John came down from his climax. It was worth the bit of discomfort to be able to feel John come around his cock.

 

Sherlock put his arms underneath John’s back and laid his head on John’s chest and he listened to the staccato of John’s heart. John’s hands went to Sherlock’s hair and he scratched his short nails across his scalp.

 

"That is something that definitely needs to be repeated. Many, many, times. I can definitely understand why you love it so much. I feel even closer to you than I did before. And I didn’t think that was possible until tonight."

 

“I would love to do that again. I’m sorry I couldn’t last a bit longer for you. You always make sure I come first.”

 

“There’s no right or wrong way, Sherlock. I’m actually really selfish. I do that so I can watch you when you come. Your face, when you come, is by far the hottest thing my two eyes have ever seen. And I’ve seen deserts in Afghanistan. I don’t want to come and miss it!”

 

Sherlock laughed, but pinched John’s side anyway. “I need to wipe you off.”

 

“NOT THE SHIRT!!!”

 

Sherlock rolled onto his back as his body shook, his laughter bouncing the bed. He leaned over and found the pair of pants John had tossed there earlier. He sat up and wiped off John’s stomach and chest, then his own. He collapsed in a heap next to John and rolled to his side. John turned on his right side, giving Sherlock back his pillow and kicking the one that had been under his bum to the floor. That definitely needed to be washed. As they always seem to do, their bodies found each other, under the duvet after John pulled it to their chins, back to chest. Sherlock’s left leg thrown haphazardly over John’s hip, his arms around John’s middle. He kissed the dark pink scar on John’s shoulder and squeezed him tight.

 

“After that shag, I’m making you breakfast in the morning.”

 

“You bet you are.” Sherlock retorted as he snuffled against John’s neck.

 

 *********************************

 

Rosie woke them at seven-fifteen, later than either of them had expected. They took turns showering while the other watched her.

 

“Sherlock? I’m going to get Rosie something to eat and read the paper until you’re done! How about pancakes for breakfast, at that place we were going to go last month?”

 

“OKAY, JOHN! I’LL BE OUT SOON! Sherlock yelled over the pounding water. Rosie and John made their way to the kitchen, where John made coffee and made Rosie some cereal and a banana.

 

Sherlock came out of the loo twenty minutes later, all spiffed up and ready to go.

 

“Shit. Sherlock, I just remembered. I have to get a few things from Tesco and I need to stop at the bank and Rosie needs some of that nappy cream from Boots. Would you mind hanging out here with her while I’m gone? I shouldn’t be gone too long, maybe ninety minutes? Then we’ll all go to breakfast, okay?”

 

“Sure. I should check the newspapers and my email anyway. She and I will be great, won’t we Rosamund?”

 

Rosie climbed on Sherlock’s lap and gave him a kiss. “I think that’s a yes. Now get going, I want pancakes!”

 

“‘cakes!”

 

“See? She agrees! Don’t forget your wallet and keys, taking the car will bring you home faster.”

 

John kissed them both before putting his keys in his pocket and walking out of the flat.

 

He was back in closer to two hours, but Sherlock didn’t seem to notice. He had a lap full of Rosie and was busy tapping the keys on his laptop. John put away the few things he’d purchased and they made their way to the streets. They walked, Rosie in a pushchair. They made their way to Bill’s Baker Street Restaurant. (Sherlock's favourite place to get pancakes.) John always makes sure to pass the waitress a few extra pounds to put chocolate chips in Sherlock's order, since chocolate chip pancakes are not on their menu. John and Rosie split an omelet and some black pudding.

 

After breakfast, they decided to talk a walk through Regent’s Park. As they made their way further inside, John touched Sherlock’s elbow and guided him to a bench.

 

“John? What’s going on?” His brow knitted in concern. 

 

“I’d like to talk to you a bit more about last night.” Why did John sound nervous?

 

“Oh. All right.”

 

Sherlock finally sat, and he looked around at the passersby nervously. John sat next to him, but turned to face him. Sherlock did the same.

 

“So. I never got to tell you the reason why I was so hesitant to sign those papers. I realized after I said I didn’t want to get married again, that I did. Because I would be marrying you. But, I didn’t want to put any more pressure on us, especially after what happened with me being injured. When you said you thought I didn’t want you anymore, I knew I had to get over my own shit and do this. Because, seeing you doubt yourself, doubt us? That was more painful than being stabbed. Or shot. And both things have happened to me. I never want to see that look on your face again. So, Sherlock Holmes? Will you marry me? Be a father to my daughter and be a husband, partner and lover to me?”

 

John slid from the bench to his knees and knelt on the cold ground as he dug in his pocket and pulled out a small, square, black box. Inside were two matching titanium bands, inlaid with a row of small diamonds. "I didn't just run errands this morning."

 

Sherlock’s eyes grew wide. He bit his lower lip.

 

“The only papers I want to keep out of that whole sodding envelope are the ones that make you Rosie’s father.”

 

Sherlock grabbed the lapels of John’s coat and pulled him up to his mouth and said against his lips, “Yes. Of course. I will marry you.” He kissed him then, John on the ground between Sherlock’s knees, John’s warm hands on his thighs, Sherlock's fingers curled around John’s lapels as they kissed. Rosie clapped her hands and squealed, as if she knew something wonderful had just happened.

 

Because something did.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you got all the way down here, let me know what you thought! Kudos and comments are two of my most favorite things.


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